


And towards inevitability we wait, we fall, we love

by shipwreckinabottle



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreckinabottle/pseuds/shipwreckinabottle
Summary: The second thing she came to notice, as her vision came slowly back into focus, washim, kneeling down beside her in the snow, a complete stranger, eyes so blue and full of concern, reminding her strangely, at that moment, of gentle oceans in the afternoon’s breeze.Then she looked down—and immediately averted her eyes.“Where are your clothes!? Why are you naked!?”“Gone,” said the stranger, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Didn’t survive the trip.”modern au;in which Diana is saved from drowning by a strange andcompletely nakedperson claiming to be from another world.





	And towards inevitability we wait, we fall, we love

**Author's Note:**

> A fun little idea based on an original story of sorts I'm working on. 
> 
> I mostly reversed Diana / Steve's role in this, having him be the strange, curious outsider, and her being the one who almost drowned when they first meet.
> 
> A huge thanks to maybetomorrow for helping me beta my story :)

Her mother always loved telling her, “Diana, when you hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up!”

Hippolyta’s cheerful optimism aside, Diana had never really found herself in disagreement. Her mother’s logic made perfect sense, because, realistically, if someone were to fall into a hole and land at the bottom, the only other place left for them to go, _is up_ , right?

_Right?_

It was quite ironic then – considering the direction Diana was currently _falling_ to her death.

On second thought, she found the word “falling” to be a little bit of an understatement; the word didn’t sound as impactful or as consequential as it should in her current predicament. “Falling” reminded her more of “falling leaves” or “falling in love” or… “her jaw falling to the floor when walking in on her boyfriend of three years doing butt-naked things with her best friend.”

But then again, she was digressing; in Diana’s case, she definitely preferred _plummeting_.

Time didn’t slow down for her like it did in the movies. There were no slow flashbacks of happy childhood memories or loved family members flashing through her head. But she was falling from such a height that it actually allowed her enough time to think and form full, coherent thoughts, which, in turn, allowed her to blame the one person responsible for all of the bad, dumb, and stupid decisions she had ever made in her short twenty-four years of life, all which resulted in her trying to drown her sorrows on the rooftop of her rented apartment complex that cold winter’s night.

 _Herself_. Basically.

She was the one who felt so damn suffocated in her tiny apartment with all those stupid boxes of his and all those stupid memories of him that she decided to head to the roof for air. She was the one who ignored all the huge “DANGER-WARNING: ONGOING-CONSTRUCTION” signs on her way over. And she was definitely the one who got so drunk on cheap, expired wine that she slipped and fell onto an unsecured railing which gave way under her weight and sent her falling off the edge of the building, presumably to her death.

There wasn’t really anyone else to blame. Depressing. _She knows._

She could almost imagine tomorrow’s headlines.

_“Heartbroken kindergarten schoolteacher flings herself off twenty-story flat after getting drunk on cheap wholesale wine.”_

It was quite the ironic situation too. She wasn’t even much of a drinker. In fact, she hated the taste of alcohol. She had the worst tolerance and she was an embarrassing drunk. She certainly wasn’t the sort of person that could even get drunk enough to get into her current… _mess_.

But it happened anyway. It was a long story, but mostly, she was drinking tonight because of him.

_He-who-must-only-be-named-asshole._

Though, she didn’t blame him entirely for her bad decisions.

Her lifelong weakness had always been confident bad boys with muscular forearms and a penchant for rolled-up sleeves.

But after what happened with _him_ , she swore that the next time, _IF there’s a next time_ , she would definitely take the “bad boy” part more seriously into consideration before committing to a relationship. Because _he-who-must-only-be-named-asshole_ certainly took the “bad boy” part quite literally when he disappeared with her rent money a day after their break-up.

So, without rent money… it meant that she was getting evicted as well.

Thankfully, her landlord was kind enough to give her a week’s notice before she had to leave her apartment forever.

Then again, she wouldn’t exactly call her apartment an… _apartment_ exactly. It was more like a tiny, shitty, closet space. A tiny, shitty, closet space in a tiny, shitty, part of town. But at least the view from the roof was great. Not that it really mattered anymore. Not when she was plummeting straight towards the cement ground at _god only knows_ how many damn miles per minute.

She pitied the person that was going to be scraping her remains off the sidewalk. It wasn’t going to be pretty at all. She could only wish that someone would come and clean her away before Antiope, the nice old lady who lived two floors down, went on her daily morning jog. Though, Diana was pretty sure Antiope could handle the sight – the older lady was a retired MMA fighter who baked lovely cookies and gave occasional self-defense classes at the nearby community center.

If anyone could handle the sight of squashed human mush, it was definitely dear old Antiope.

 _Dead human mush_. It sounded funny in her head. She wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Maybe, except _he-who-must-only-be-named-asshole_. If she had to die this horrible way, she certainly wouldn’t mind dying in the path of -

Her thoughts were promptly eviscerated by the impact of ice water violently blanketing her from all sides. It hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before - multiplied by a thousand. She gasped as the cold consumed her, managing only the smallest inhale before being dragged down into the murky depths below.

It was cold, dark, bitter, and every bit of her was in agony, but strangely, she was still alive.

She wasn’t human mush splattered across the sidewalk!

_The canal._

She must have fallen from the side of the building that faced the canal.

She couldn’t believe her luck, she -

It was then that she remembered she _couldn’t_ swim.

There was a second of pure panic before calmer thoughts took hold. She knew how treading water worked—at least, in theory. She remembered watching a video on it sometime back. _It’s all arm-leg movement_. It was supposed to be easy too, even dogs could do it.

Except her limbs were completely unresponsive. She felt weirdly numb from the neck down, a strange sense of tiredness quickly taking hold and refusing to let go. She struggled hard, but her muscles weren’t responding, completely locked to her side by the cold.

She tried her best to relax, hoping that she might float to the top, but her thick jacket, ironically a gift from _he-who-must-only-be-named-asshole_ , was weighing her down, pulling her deeper, deeper towards the bottom.

She looked towards the surface, concentrating on the image of the moon’s glow reflecting off the water’s surface; her lungs screamed at her to breathe, to inhale, but she fought the impulse, knowing that every additional second was another chance at survival.

But it was a fight she was quickly losing.

Darkness danced across the edges of her vision, taking the form of an approaching blackness. She didn’t know if she was hallucinating from the lack of oxygen, but she could see - could feel - _it_ approaching, latching onto her clothing, squeezing so tightly onto her arms it felt like death itself welcoming her into its embrace.

She struggled against the darkness, disorientated, no longer able to tell whether she was going up or down. Then she saw it. Upwards. The moon’s glow. Distant, but unwavering. She tried to reach for it, but she was suddenly heavy - so, so heavy.

Then she inhaled… and everything went painfully black.

 

* * *

 

When Diana came to again - spluttering, coughing, vomiting out icy water and feeling like she just about died and came back to life - the first thing she noticed was that the moon she was so desperately reaching for… was actually just a streetlamp.

The second thing she noticed, as slowly as her vision came back into focus, was _him_ , a stranger, kneeling down beside her in the snow, eyes so blue and full of concern, reminding her strangely, at that moment, of gentle oceans in the afternoon’s breeze.

The third thing she noticed, or more immediately felt, while still in the midst of gathering her thoughts, was the cold, spreading across her like a blanket of wildfire woven from the snow beneath. A violent shiver tore through her body, her teeth immediately starting to chatter as each unsteady breath sent another vapor of white wisping slowly into the night sky.

“Are… you okay?” the stranger asked.

His voice was softer than she imagined, strangely melodic, an accent she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m okay, I thi-”

Her words caught in mid-sentence. Her mouth moved but no words followed.

Because when she turned towards him, the fourth—and most shocking—thing she noticed, was that he was completely, utterly… _naked_. There wasn’t a single piece of clothing on him, barefooted even, kneeling down beside her in the snow like it wasn’t the coldest of winter but an afternoon of peaceful autumn.

She rubbed her eyes and blinked, once, twice, a third time, wondering if she was hallucinating. Her eyes squeezed shut for a long second, half expecting him to disappear when she opened them again.

But when she did, he was still there, staring at her in the most curious manner, like _she_ was the weird one.

She averted her eyes from him. “W-Where are your clothes!? Why are you naked!?”

“Gone,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Didn’t survive the trip.”

She stared back at him for a long moment, trying her hardest not to look downwards. She didn’t understand what he meant by “didn’t survive the trip,” until something clicked inside her head and it suddenly dawned upon her that the _thing_ that approached her when she was drowning…

 _It was him, wasn’t it?_ He must have had dove into the canal and pulled her out. He was naked only because he discarded his wet clothing right after pulling her out from the canal.

It made perfect sense… _right?_

_Gone, didn’t survive the trip._

The phrasing was a little bit weird, but judging from his accent, she chalked it up to him being a foreigner of some sort.

“Can you walk?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “You need to get somewhere warmer.”

“I… I think so,” she replied between the chattering of her teeth.

She got up to her feet, feeling slightly disorientated, her knees shaking from the cold. She took a step forward, then stumbled as her legs gave out underneath her. The snow-covered pavement came up to meet her, but suddenly he was there, arms reaching firmly around her waist, catching her midfall and holding her still, holding her safe.

He felt strangely warm pressed against her.

It took her another long second to compose herself. “I… I live over there.” She motioned to the apartment complex with a shrug of her head. They started in the building’s direction, her arm still looped around his shoulder, his own still placed against her waist.

It was a long, slow trek, one steady step at a time, and it wasn’t long before Diana found herself studying this strange savior of hers, her eyes following a single drop of water trailing steadily down the side of his neck, continuing along the inward curve of his chest, hanging onto the precipice of his pecs for a long, anxious second, then sliding downwards, across his visible, still glistening abs and…

She looked away, shaking her head, feeling her cheeks burning warmly through the cold, focusing instead onto his face. It was unbelievable. She was freezing to death and yet… there wasn’t a single hint of discomfort on his face, which, she had to admit—perhaps because of how oxygen-starved her brain still was from her near-drowning — was a very, very attractive one.

When they finally reached the building’s main entrance, she immediately made her way inside and towards one of the old heaters installed next to the empty lobby. She stripped down to her undergarments, tossing aside her wet clothing and squatted down in front of the ancient heater, her hands held out in front of her, a happy sigh as waves of heat greeted her in response.

It was only a few minutes afterwards when she realized that he had not followed her into the building. Instead, she could still see him through the front windows, standing in the middle of a raging snowstorm, without a care to the worsening weather around him.

She opened the door and, as she peaked her head out, her hair was sent into an immediate frenzy by the turbulent winds, a testament to the rapidly declining conditions outside.

He stood there by the sidewalk, his hands held outwards, his face tilted towards the skies, filled with what seemed like childlike wonder, like he was experiencing snow for the very first time. He was smiling too, unbelievably, a smile as genuine and sincere as she’d ever seen, and still as completely naked as he ever was.

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

He didn’t seem at all affected by the cold. But there was no way she was going to leave him out there in the open. Especially not if she was the one who caused him to lose all his clothing in the first place. Also, she still had a couple boxes of _he-who-must-only-be-named-asshole’s_ things still in her apartment. Better to give this stranger a couple of his shirts than to burn them all, or so she would think.

So, against her better judgement, she went back outside and pulled him into the building.

 

* * *

 

Less than a minute later and twenty stories up, they stepped into her tiny apartment flat.

It was a small one-room apartment; her bedroom to one side and a small kitchen space built into the living room, which consisted of enough space only for a small coffee table, a couch, and a tiny work desk, which could be easily converted into a dining table, if need be.

She cranked the heater up to max before digging through _he-who-must-only-be-named-asshole’s_ things for some clean clothing that would fit her strange new companion. “Make yourself umm… comfortable,” she said. “I’m going to take a quick shower and change.”

He nodded.

Ten minutes later, she returned to the living room in a pair of warm, comfortable matching pajamas.

She noticed him standing by the window, wearing the clothing she’d provided, quietly watching the outside snow. His face was filled with the same awe she’d seen before, again reminding her of a young child seeing snow for the first time.

He turned as she approached, the blue in his eyes visibly mellow in her darkly lit apartment.

“Thank you, for… umm… pulling me out of the water,” she said softly, her hands instinctively reaching around her as she shuddered at the memory of almost drowning. “If not for you, I… I might have… I might have just…”

_Died._

She couldn’t bring herself to say the word, to admit how close her carelessness, her stupidity had led to almost losing her life. Now that her adrenaline had passed, she realized the enormity of her actions, the consequences of what almost happened.

_She almost died._

Because of him. That _asshole._ It was so, so stupid of her. She didn’t think of her mother. She didn’t think of her students. She didn’t think of anyone but herself. Hippolyta would’ve been heartbroken. The two of them were supposed to be a team. When Diana was four, when her father left, she promised her mother that the two of them were going to take care of each other for the rest of their lives.

And promises… promises were supposed to be _unbreakable_.

She couldn’t remember the last time she cried. She didn’t cry when she had to drop out from college two years into her course when Hippolyta couldn’t afford the tuition anymore. She didn’t cry when she had to move halfway across the country from her mother to find better work. She didn’t cry when she learned that she was about to be evicted from her apartment. She certainly didn’t cry when she caught and kicked _he-who-must-only-be-named-asshole_ out of her apartment.

She really wanted to, she really did, but at that time it felt like, if she did, she was only admitting how pathetic her situation was - and how much it hurt her - and so, she kept it inside, no matter how painful it was. But now… strangely, in front of the stranger she knew nothing of other than… well… how he looked naked, she just couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

She didn’t know how long she sat there sobbing, until she felt his hand pressing softly against her shoulder. A gentle squeeze. Followed by another. Then another. He did not say a single word to her, but that small little action, no matter how inconsequential, was a lot more reassuring than she imagined possible.

When she eventually regained her composure, she wiped at her face and apologized. “Sorry.”

He didn’t speak, but she saw no judgement in his face. He wasn’t looking down on her, or laughing at her, or even pitying her, and she was strangely grateful for it. She might had just broken down in front of a complete stranger, but she didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. In fact, it was more cathartic than anything else.

“I’m… umm… Diana,” she said, extending her hand; it felt right to introduce herself. “Diana Prince.”

He stared at her hand for a long second, his head tilted curiously, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “Di-Diana,” he said. “Diana,” he repeated afterwards, a little bit more confident the second-time round, like he was trying to be sure, like he was learning a new word for the first time.

Her hand was left hanging for a long, awkward moment before returning to her side. She didn’t know what to think of that odd little interaction. She knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, not after all they’d been through. Being rude would be quite the step back from that reassuring shoulder-squeeze he gave her, and _actually saving her from dying_.

Everything added to her assumption of him being a foreigner. _But from somewhere that didn’t even understand a handshake?_ Strange. He must likely be from some backwater place. But then again, even with a strange accent, he still seemed capable enough to converse in normal English, and--

He tapped his chest loudly, causing her to jump a little at the sudden noise.

“I’m zero-nine-one-two-five-five-six.”

_What?_

She stared at him blankly, her brain unable to compute what he’d just said.

“Z-Zero-nine-one-two-what?” she stuttered.

“Zero-nine-one-two-five-five-six,” he repeated himself calmly, like it was the most casual thing in the world to remember.

“T-That… that’s a long name,” she didn’t know what else to say. “Zero-nine-one-two-five-five-seven?”

“Zero-nine-one-two-five-five-six.”

Then it hit her.

The childlike confusion. The random string of numbers he was using as his name. The way he seemed completely unaffected by the cold.

_He’s on goddamn drugs._

But on second thoughts… he didn’t seem inebriated enough, not on the surface anyways; he seemed way too calm, way too in control of his actions to be under the influence of anything.

“Is… something wrong?” he said after a long, awkward pause, like he’d just noticed her sudden dose of discomfort.

She shook her head a little too quickly in response, hoping he wasn’t offended by her slightly dumbfounded reaction. “N-No. I mean… your name, it’s a little… long, isn’t it?”

“Names do not really matter where I’m from.” He shrugged. “But yes, I believe it’s slightly above average.”

_Huh._

She closed her eyes and sighed. _Just what the hell was she getting herself into?_ Her eyes fell onto the shirt that he was wearing. It was her ex’s favorite band. _The Stranger Stevens_.

It gave her an idea.

“So… since names do not matter…” she asked. “Do you mind if I call you… Steven? Or… Steve?”

“Steve.” He seemed strangely amused by the name. “Steve,” he said again, then nodded. “Steve.”

“So… Steve,” she said, more than a little curious now. “Where are you from?”

“The Hollow Tower.” And that was all he said. Like he expected her to know what exactly he was referring to.

“Umm… where is that?” she asked.

“Somewhere… very far away.”

“Like… Germany?”

He shook his head. “No. I come from a place called Veld.” He looked upwards for a second, like he was doing mental calculations in his head. “Four and three-quarters worlds’ distance away.”

_Huh._

She didn’t know why she’d actually expected a proper answer.

“Four… worlds away?”

“Four worlds and three-quarters,” he corrected her, like having the actual proper measurements was an important factor.

At that point, there were many things she wasn’t sure of. She wasn’t sure if he was playing an elaborate joke on her. She wasn’t sure if he was a mentally ill patient who escaped from a nearby facility because having a number instead of a name sure as hell fitted that possibility. But most of all, she wasn’t sure why… she was entertaining what he was saying.

“So… what’s Veld like?”

“It isn’t a pretty place. Gray as far as the eye can see.” The same childlike wonder returned. “Unlike yours. Your world is… beautiful. Breath-taking. Colors everywhere. The skies, the oceans, even the sides of the road. It’s… unbelievable.”

She nodded, quite sure she didn’t hear incorrectly any of what he just said, from the whole marveling of Earth’s nature to… well… the whole _YOUR_ world emphasis. _YOUR_ world. As in… _he’s saying HE’s from another world._

At least that was what she thought he was implying. Or more like saying, directly to her face. Like it wasn’t the most damn ridiculous thing she’d heard all year.

She squeezed her eyes shut. All the fading adrenaline seemed to have left a huge void that was quickly filling up with fatigue. She was suddenly feeling too damn tired to handle any more of this.

“Umm… Steve?” she said as she got up from the couch. “It’s getting really late. I’m heading to bed. You can have the couch until morning.” She gestured towards the kitchen. “There’s water in the fridge and some leftover sandwiches if you’re feeling hungry.”

After all he did, providing him shelter until the snowstorm could pass was the least she could do in return.

He was quiet for a while, then he nodded.

She was making her way over to her bedroom when he said her name.

“Diana.”

She turned back to him.

He was holding onto one of her mugs. “Do you mind… if I take this?”

She blinked, a little taken off guard by his question. “Not really,” she shook her head.

“Thank you,” he smiled, warmly, reminding her of one of her kindergarten students rewarded with a scoop of ice cream for good behavior.

He got up from the couch and walked over to the window, unlatching the glass and scooping a cupful of snow from the windowsill. Then he closed the window and sat back down onto the couch, leaving the snow-filled mug on the coffee-table in front of him.

There came no further movement. So, she closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned against the doorframe, letting out the deep breath she’d been holding for the longest time.

She contemplated for a long minute whether or not to lock the door.

He seemed harmless enough.

She locked it nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

When she woke up the next day, he was already gone – along with her mug.

A cold breeze greeted her as she stepped into the living room.

The window was open. She rushed over and closed it.

Later on, when she was having breakfast, she realized that her front door was still locked from the inside. The locks were still properly latched.

It was impossible for someone to do so from the outside.

_So how did he…_

Then she remembered the window.

_It can’t be… can it?_

She opened it and looked outside.

_The fire escape._

But they were twenty stories high.

The elevator should have been the more obvious (and way safer) choice.

_He couldn’t have… could he?_

**Author's Note:**

> So... crazy person or interdimensional world traveller? 
> 
> That's for you to find out ;D


End file.
